


Supplication

by eliddell



Category: Kyou Kara Maou!
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, terminally ill character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-05
Updated: 2014-03-05
Packaged: 2018-01-14 15:40:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1272037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eliddell/pseuds/eliddell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Geneus collapses on the ship taking Shouri to meet Alazon, Shouri tries to help him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Supplication

**Author's Note:**

> Pointless shortfic—I guess I've been so immersed in these two that my subconscious _insisted_ that I write something for them that would fit completely inside the canon universe (it could also fit inside the same universe as _Repatriation_ , but wasn't particularly meant to). Takes place during episode 104 (III-26), "White Crows", and it's important to keep in mind that Shouri doesn't yet know at this point who and what Geneus is, because Murata didn't come clean until after he was kidnapped. Shouri/Geneus arguably, Shin'ou/Daikenja implied.
> 
> (This is not one of the 'fics I mentioned when posting the last part of _Repatriation_ —those are both multichapter and I'm still working on them both at a rate of roughly a chapter per week. No idea when I'm going to be finished, although the one with the soul-stealing cult and the Shouri/Geneus/Shin'ou threesome is definitely going to be done first unless I hit a brick wall with it.)
> 
> I don't own _Kyo Kara Maoh!_ any more than I ever have.

It was nearly noon on the third day since I'd woken up on board the ship, and I was starting to get seriously bored. I mean, the door was locked and the room was empty except for me, a bed, and a desk with a flimsy chair. There was only one window—porthole, rather—sealed shut and low to the water, so that even if I positioned myself beside it, kneeling, to look out, there really wasn't anything to see. Exercising could only take up so much of my time, especially since I didn't think much of my chances of getting a bath until we got to wherever we were going, so I didn't want to get sweaty. 

Meals were becoming the high point of my day, since they were also my only opportunity for human contact. He always brought them in person—Geneus, the man with the face of Shin Makoku's Great Sage and violet eyes full of shadows. I'd discovered that if I chose my words carefully, I could coax him into a few minutes of conversation, and he was fascinating to talk to. Even if he wasn't the real Great Sage, he had a tremendous mind, knife-sharp and with an excellent memory for details and trivia. The trick was getting him to talk at all, since he would sometimes leave without answering my questions or saying anything but the odd banal pleasantry. 

The key seemed to be avoiding sensitive topics, which meant nothing about Shin Makoku or what he wanted me for or where we were going. Even magic—majutsu or houjutsu—was a bit dicey. Yesterday, we'd talked about poetry, of all things, for nearly a quarter of an hour when he'd brought my supper, and I'd spent most of the morning cudgeling my brain for other innocuous, or at least irrelevant, things I could ask him about. This world's crazy fauna offered a lot of scope for questions. So did politics and economics—I did have to be careful there, but the White Crow didn't seem to have anything to do with Small Cimaron, and I wanted to know more about that country and its king, since Yuuri seemed to have gotten mixed up with them. 

I was sitting on the edge of the bed when I finally heard the sound of footsteps in the hallway. I shifted my position, trying hard to _look_ nonchalant . . . even though I knew that Geneus would see straight through me. Those shadowed eyes never seemed to miss anything. 

As always, he knocked politely on the door and waited for me to respond before unlocking it. The tray with my lunch on it shook slightly, just a hint of vibration, as he was forced to support it with one hand while nudging the door shut again. I took it from him and set it aside on the desk, then turned back to him to ask my first question . . . and stopped. His face was chalk white, the purple markings on his cheeks and forehead standing out lividly, and his spine was much too straight and stiff—not that he ever stooped, but his normal pattern of movement was looser, more fluid. Right now, he looked like someone had scraped him out of a hospital bed and sent him tottering off down the hall to tend to the other patients. 

"Are you okay?" I said. 

He smiled, but it was clearly forced. "If even you are asking that, I must truly look horrible. I have overexerted myself, that is all." 

_Then you should be lying down._ I bit back the words, because I had learned something else about this man since he'd semi-kidnapped me: he was proud. There was obviously something badly wrong with him, some incurable condition that caused him to collapse from time to time, but I hadn't even tried to ask him about it, and I was pretty sure he'd die before he brought it up himself. 

"You know, I'm getting a bit tired of stew," I said instead. 

The smile never wavered, but he didn't relax, either. "I have told the cook as much myself, but our selection of supplies is limited. Best hope that we are not delayed, or we may have the break out the back-up rations: ship's biscuit, and doubtless full of weevils by now. If I never have to eat another of those, it will be too soon." 

"I admit they don't sound all that appetizing." I was about to add one of my prepared questions when he raised his hand. 

"If you will excuse me, then, there is a change of course forthcoming which I must supervise." He turned back toward the door, gloved hand finding the knob, opened it . . . and dropped to his knees, still gripping the handle, as the ship swayed. He tried to rise, but seemed unable to get his feet under him, so I went to check on him, muttering a curse. 

He was breathing hard, just like that time in the forest, and there were waves of shivers running through him. I swore again and touched his cheek, since the only skin he left bare was that of his face and neck. I expected that he would have a fever, but instead his flesh was ice cold. 

"Come on," I said. "Give me your arm. I'll help you get up on deck." 

"I—" The word emerged as a choked gasp as his eyes rolled up in his head. His hand loosened and fell from the doorknob as he collapsed into an awkward heap. 

I grabbed his shoulders to keep him from falling all the way forward onto the floor and breaking his nose or something, and quickly sorted through my options. If I shouted for help or tried to carry him up on deck before he regained consciousness, the other White Crows might think I'd attacked him and knocked him out—I mean, technically I was their prisoner, and I didn't want to find out what they would do to me if they thought I'd hurt their commander. One of them might come looking for him soon when he didn't show up to supervise that course change . . . but he might have been lying about that so that he'd have an excuse to leave me right away and go and lie down without having to admit his weakness. If I was going to try to apply first aid to him here while I waited for someone else to show up, the first thing to do was try to get him warm. And since I didn't have a hot shower or warm bricks or even a fire, I would have to use the traditional cliche of warming him with my own body heat. 

I was damned if I was going to lie down on the floor with him, and it wasn't really all that far to the bed, so I dragged him across the gap, flipped the covers back, and wrestled him up onto the mattress. He wasn't completely limp, which made it easier. I yanked his boots off and examined his tunic until I found the tiny buttons concealed in one shoulder and side seam. They were hell to unfasten, but I was pretty sure I needed skin contact to get him warm enough fast enough. Then I stripped off my shirt and shoes, got into bed beside him, and pulled his body against mine, face to face. 

I got chilled almost immediately—I mean, he felt like he was barely more than room temperature! If not for his shivering and the rise and fall of his chest, I would have thought he was dead. As it was, I waited anxiously for each touch of cold breath against my cheek, gritting my teeth and forcing myself not to panic whenever it was even a microsecond late. 

We lay there like that for . . . well, I wasn't sure how long, because my watch hadn't survived my impulsive dunk in the bathtub at home. A long time, anyway, during which nobody showed up to notice that the door was hanging open. Slowly, by degrees, Geneus' flesh began to warm, and his tight muscles relaxed. When he threw an arm around my waist, snuggled against me, and let out a sigh, I figured he was going to be all right, but I wasn't inclined to dislodge the poor bastard. If this happened often, it might have been days since he'd had any kind of restful sleep, and I didn't have anywhere I needed to be. I might as well wait for him to wake naturally. 

I stroked his hair absently, and since that seemed to relax him even more, I did it again, letting my hand slide down the back of his head and along his braid. When he'd snuggled up, he'd shifted downward relative to me, so that his face was pressed against my throat, his breath, warm now, tickling my adam's apple. He was thinner than I had thought, all ropy muscle over bone without a hint of padding to cushion it. Fragile, for someone who could seem so vital. 

It was just so wrong. The strong-willed, proud, _brilliant_ man I'd been catching glimpses of deserved better than to sacrifice what little life he had left running questionable errands for someone who clearly didn't give a damn about him, and then die alone and friendless—I'd had a couple of opportunities to watch him with the other White Crows, and while it was clear that they all respected him, they also kept their distance. Perhaps they thought his condition was contagious, but I was pretty sure that he was too smart to have handled my food if that were the case. No, I was pretty sure that they just didn't want to get too attached to someone who might not live much longer. 

"My lord?" The soft, muffled voice came from down near my collarbone. He hadn't raised his head or opened his eyes, and I doubted he was really awake. 

"Go back to sleep," I said softly. 

"My lord . . . then it was all an evil dream . . . the darkness hath not taken thee . . ." 

"Everything is fine," I said. Who did he think I was? And . . . how long ago? If the let-me-hear-your-heart's-cry-kun stuffed into my ear was rendering his words in way that had gone out of fashion centuries ago on Earth . . . "Everything except you, that is," I continued, trying for a bit of humour, and wondering if that was out of character for whoever I was pretending to be. "You really do need to rest." 

"Mmh. I think . . . Have I been ill? Perhaps I have been working too hard, but now that the war is over, there is so much that needs to be done . . ." 

"The work will still be there in the morning." _What war? Who were you, before you got caught up in this . . . mess?_

"I am surprised . . . that thou art at all familiar with work . . . even as an abstract concept . . ." 

It was all I could do not to flinch in surprise as I felt the touch of warm lips, and even a tongue, on the skin at the base of my throat. More than a kiss, less than a love bite . . . I held very still. Really, I was kind of surprised I didn't feel disgusted. I'd always thought I would be, if another guy ever touched me in a way that suggested he might . . . well, _that_ . . . with me . . . but Geneus . . . 

_What are you doing to me?_ I barely knew the man in my arms, and yet he seemed to have hooked into some deep part of my psyche that had, up until now, been filled only with Yuuri. I wanted to protect him. I wanted to see him smile for real, to see those eyes clear of the shadows that filled him. 

I wanted him to be happy. And I didn't see how I could achieve that. The chances that Earth medicine would be able to do something for him that this-world healing magic couldn't was slim to the point of non-existence, and anyway I doubted I would be able to persuade him to come back with me. Whatever responsibilities he felt he had here, he would see them through to the bitter end, because that was the kind of person that he was. All I could do was hold him on the sly, and pretend to be whoever-it-was that he'd loved in the past. 

And where was he now, the stranger who should have been here to care for the man in my arms? Oddly, I hoped he was dead. It was one of the few acceptable excuses for his absence. 

It might have been another hour or two before he stirred and opened his eyes. " . . . Shouri-dono? What . . . ?" 

"You collapsed on your way out the door," I said. "It scared the crap out of me. Since you were freezing cold, I figured warming you up might help." 

"Ah. My apologies for frightening you, then." He sat up slowly, visibly testing each muscle, each joint, before he depended on them for anything. "It does seem to have helped a little. Thank you." A pause, and then, very softly, "You are too kind a person to be caught up in all of this." I don't know if I was supposed to hear that part, though. 

"Why are you doing this?" I asked. "You should be so much more than someone's hired thug. And it's going to end up killing you." 

He smiled—not forced now, but sad and sweet. "And if I stop, I will certainly die. I have no choice in any of this. I do not ask you to understand why." The smile faded. "I think that, lying here with you, I must have dreamed of better times—of him. Otherwise, knowing what I must do would not make such a bitter taste in my mouth. Soon enough, the time will come when nothing can save me, and then I will fall away into nothingness, as though I had never been." 

"That isn't true," I said, laying my hand on his bare shoulder. "Dying—" I forced myself to say the word, even though I still wanted to hope. "—isn't the same as vanishing. There are people who will remember you. I know I will. And souls are immortal." 

"You assume that I have one." 

"You have to have. You're a person." 

This time, the smile looked like it hurt. "I wish I could believe you are right." 

At the time, I didn't know anything about his bizarre circumstances—why he had the Sage's face and that name and was in charge of the White Crow, or whose name he might have spoken in his semi-conscious state. All I could do was wrap my arms around him and pull him against me again, making him vent a startled gasp of breath. 

"Everything will be all right," I said. "I'll make it all right." 

"You do not have that power," he said . . . but he also relaxed against me. 

"Don't be so sure." 

He voiced a pathetic, breathy ghost of a laugh. "There are times when you remind me so much of him. I wish . . ." But then he shook his head. "In other matters, I might believe you, but helping me . . . it is impossible, Shouri-dono. I can see no way out." 

_I'll make one._ It was on the tip of my tongue to say it . . . but I bit it back. I'm not Yuuri. I know that some things really are impossible. 

All I could do was hold him. And even that, not for much longer before he stirred again. 

"I must go," he said, sounding apologetic. "If my men were to find me here, fraternizing with the enemy . . ." He glanced toward the open door. 

"I understand," I said, sliding out of the bed to give him room, and reaching for my shirt. 

I wanted to protect him, but all I could do was watch him go, and eat my half-forgotten cold stew, and let my thoughts chase themselves around in circles. 

Maybe there really was no way out.


End file.
